The Death Games
by headagainstthesky
Summary: The Battle of Hogwarts is over. Voldemort has won. The remaining prisoners are determined to overpower him, but they are helpless against his newest creation: the Death Games.
1. Prologue

A/N: This is a submission for the "Harry Potter in the Hunger Games Challenge" on the HPFC forum. This is my first ever crossover fic, so I hope you enjoy it! Don't hesitate to leave a critique.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling or Suzanne Collins. I do not own any of these characters.

_The Death Games_

Prologue

"The preparations are all in order, my Lord," said the blonde-haired man in a drawling voice. "The contestants are being held by the Dementors."

"Excellent," said the second man, who was sitting rigidly in the former Headmaster's chair. The Great Hall before him was empty, save for himself, the blonde-haired man standing beside him, a rather gaunt-looking woman sitting directly to his left, and a massive snake that slithered quietly at his feet. He had taken great lengths to restoring Hogwarts Castle to its former glory, and after months of repair, the place looked as though there had never been a battle waged within it.

Nagini, the man's snake, began to coil her body around one of the legs of the table, and he stroked her head absently while he silently went over the plan in his head. The Battle of Hogwarts may have been over, but the question of what to do with the remaining prisoners had begun to annoy him. His Death Eaters, his own followers, had come to him at least a dozen times over the past few weeks to complain about everything under the sun. From prisoners attempting to escape, to jinxes and hexes being cast even after their wands had been broken, to massive riots that resulted in deaths on both sides – they did not seem to have the prisoners under control. And Voldemort, the Dark Lord, the Master of Death, was expected to handle these ridiculous situations, as if it were his sole purpose in life to detain unruly captives. He was infuriated with the lot of them.

But he could not kill them all. No, as much as he relished in pain and misery, he did not wish to destroy the world. He merely wished to rule it, and as a ruler, one does not simply exterminate those that have defied him. A true ruler bends his subjects to his will, and that was exactly what he planned on doing. It began slowly, with his first decree saying that all prisoners be stripped of their wands. Unfortunately, many of the prisoners sought to win them back by way of thievery, and he couldn't have that. So they were snapped into pieces, every single one. The only wands left were the ones he and his Death Eaters used.

His second decree was that all prisoners would be split into separate groups, which would lessen the number of riots and attempted escapes. This was a bit more successful, but the riots and escapes continued regardless. Even without their wands, the prisoners were restless. The more powerful witches and wizards had to be under constant guard, and because many of them were proficient at wandless magic, they had to be kept unconscious at all times. This was not something that Voldemort wanted. He wished to keep the Wizarding World intact, but to do that, he had to keep as many witches and wizards as he could alive and unharmed. It was not an easy thing, restraining himself from wiping them all out. He craved a new world, a better world, in which the magical community would be rid of Muggle-borns and Muggle-lovers alike. The Muggle World was yet to be conquered, of course, but his first mission was to purify the Wizarding World. And it was proving to be a lot more difficult to do than he had imagined.

As long as Voldemort was outnumbered, he had no chance of overpowering the Wizarding World. Try as he might, he could not think of a way to dwindle down the number of prisoners without laying waste to potential soldiers; that is, until he realized that the only way to see any potential in prisoners was to back them into a corner….

"Yaxley," Voldemort said to the blonde-haired man, "inform the others that the Games are about to begin."

Yaxley gave a stiff nod and strode away silently, his long black coat billowing behind him as he exited the Great Hall.

"My Lord," said Bellatrix, the woman to Voldemort's left. He did not turn to face her, but he could feel her eyes upon him. "How many of these… Games… do you intend to create?"

Voldemort sighed. "As many as are necessary."

"And what of the mudbloods?" Her tone was icy. "What do you plan to do with them?"

"Patience, Bellatrix," he said quietly. He stroked Nagini's head once more, and a slight smile played onto his thin lips. "You should know by now that mudbloods are the least of my concerns."

Bellatrix did not say anything, but it seemed as though it was taking her a large effort to hold her tongue. Voldemort noticed this immediately.

"I don't think you understand the concept of the Games," he told her. "Instead of having to decide who to kill and who to spare, they do the work for us. Nature will always take its course."

"I understand that," muttered Bellatrix, who was now burning a large hole in the table with her wand. "What I don't understand is how we could get them to kill each other. I suppose we could make them do it, but that would defeat the purpose."

"Indeed it would."

Taking her attention away from the burning hole, Bellatrix looked over at Voldemort for the first time. Of course, he hardly ever returned her gaze, but even when she was looking at his profile, she was fascinated by how beautiful he was. His skin was like polished marble, glowing faintly beneath the flickering candles that surrounded them. She supposed it was a good thing he never looked at her; all he would see was her mat of thick black hair, her rotten teeth, and the pale shadows beneath her eyes. There was nothing beautiful about her. He, her master, was the only thing that mattered in this world.

"My Lord," she whispered, resisting the urge to put her hand upon his, "you say that you do not want to decide who to kill and who to spare… but what if I took the burden for you?"

"We've discussed this, Bellatrix," he hissed at her, making her swallow. "You are not to kill anyone unless I command it."

Bellatrix breathed deeply, but knew not to argue. "Yes, my Lord."

"If I am to rebuild the Earth, I need the strongest witches and wizards to be at my side," he continued. "And the Death Games will reveal them to me."

"But what if –"

"No more!" Voldemort yelled. Bellatrix did not move a muscle. "You are not to question me. You are not my confidante."

The knot that had been forming in Bellatrix's stomach tightened at his words. She was always afraid that she would overstep her boundaries, but her master had never cut her off so early on as he did now. She couldn't shake the feeling that his decisions were becoming more and more reckless, but she loved him so dearly that she would never think to disobey him. He was the most cunning and determined man she knew, and how dare she assume that he had not thought this through? Bellatrix felt ashamed for even considering the thought.

"Yes, my Lord," she said, and immediately after she did, the Great Hall doors swung open to reveal a mass of Death Eaters, all talking amongst themselves as they entered. Yaxley, who was leading the crowd, stood directly in front of the High Table and briefly bowed his head. His expression was sickeningly smug as he looked up at the two of them, though when his eyes settled on his master, he turned serious once more.

"What would you have us do, my Lord?"

The rest of the Death Eaters went completely quiet at his words. There were at least a hundred of them, all waiting for their master to give them their instructions. The sheep had flocked to their shepherd once more.

Bellatrix saw many looks of curiousness and confusion on her comrades' faces. _None of them know_, she thought suddenly. _None of them know about the Games except Yaxley._

Voldemort, who had remained seated, was quite still. There was a palpable tension in the air, and what he said next made many of the Death Eaters shift where they stood.

"I would have you sit," he told Yaxley, "and watch."


	2. Lavender Brown

Chapter One: Lavender Brown

I stood shaking among my fellow classmates, hopelessly wishing to be woken up from the horrible nightmare that was unfolding in front of me. Twelve of us, all bound by enchanted ropes, were huddled together while the Dementors swarmed ominously around us. Amycus and Alecto Carrow watched us from a distance, but their presence was hardly required. The Dementors spread enough misery for the both of them.

I had never been more terrified in my life. Even during the Battle, I was not quite as scared as I was now. At least while I was fighting, I had a chance. But now my wand, my only weapon, was destroyed. I had no chance now. None of us did.

There was no telling what the Death Eaters had in store for us. It didn't seem as though any of the others knew, and even if they did, none of us could talk. Our mouths were glued shut by magic, as they had been for weeks now. We were only permitted to open our mouths when the Death Eaters fed us, which was a rare thing in and of itself. Looking around, I noticed that only one of the others appeared to be in good health: Theodore Nott, who was a Slytherin pure-blood and son of a Death Eater. I couldn't imagine why the child of a Death Eater would be imprisoned with the rest of us, but then again, I couldn't have imagined many of the things that had taken place within the last three months.

Before I could look away from the boy, the two of us locked eyes. His eyes were deep pools of dark amber, swirls of burnt honey that bore into me as though trying to tell me a secret. I immediately turned my head and swallowed down my fear, wondering if he knew something that I didn't.

I had little time to linger on this, however, for the doors to the Great Hall had burst open to reveal a large crowd of Death Eaters waiting for us inside. They were all yelling taunts and throwing their fists into the air with garish, twisted smiles on their faces; apparently they were excited about us being there.

The Dementors slowly dispersed, leaving the twelve of us to inch slowly into the Great Hall. The Carrows followed closely behind us with their wands outstretched, but I could not think as to why any of the Death Eaters bothered with such measures anymore. We were twelve wandless teenagers with our hands tied and our bones throbbing with exhaustion. We were pitiful, emaciated creatures who were on the brink of death. How could we pose a threat?

As we moved closer and closer to the High Table, I saw Voldemort sitting calmly in the Headmaster's chair, his revolting pet snake encircling the floor at his feet. I couldn't help but shiver at the sight of him. I would never be able to overcome my fear of him, not truly; he had orchestrated all of this, this gathering, and the chill that ran up my spine told me that we were here for entertainment. Entertainment for Death Eaters never resulted in anything pleasant.

"Welcome, contestants." Voldemort's cold voice echoed throughout the Hall, silencing the Death Eaters around us. _Contestants_? "Thank you for joining me here today."

He said it as though we had a choice in the matter.

"And Harry Potter," said Voldemort, "I am most anxious to see how you perform."

Harry, who was standing on the other side of the group, struggled against his ropes. I saw the look of pure hatred in his eyes, a look so terrible that I could almost feel the rage within him.

Voldemort stood from his seat and began to walk to the side of the High Table, where he surveyed the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, "may I present to you the first ever contestants of the Death Games."

There were whoops of triumph throughout the Hall. We all exchanged fearful glances with each other, and while some of us struggled and thrashed as Harry did, others attempted to yell out protests. However, our mouths remained closed, and our voices merely resounded within our own throats.

My blood felt like it had frozen over at this point. I didn't make an effort to escape my bonds, nor did I try to scream. I knew it was hopeless. If there were anything that could be done to rise against the Death Eaters, it would have been done already. But our numbers had dwindled. Our wands would never work again. We were alone. We were trapped. As much as it hurt to accept such a miserable fate, it was all I could think to do at the moment. I felt as though my fight had left me. There was nothing else that could be done, not anymore.

Voldemort held his hands out to silence his Death Eaters, and as the Hall went quiet once more, he spoke directly to us.

"I imagine that you are wondering why you are here." The smirk upon his face was possibly the most unsettling thing I had ever seen. "Well, the idea is simple. You are all going to kill each other."

My eyes widened. My classmates had stopped moving completely, and none of them made a sound. It seemed as though they were as shocked as I was.

Voldemort's smirk widened at our dumbfounded expressions.

"Go on, out with it," he said silkily. "Tell me that you refuse."

With a quick wave of his hand, I felt my lips part open. I immediately gasped for air, air that had only been entering and leaving my nostrils for weeks. It felt amazing to feel the freedom of being able to move my mouth again, but under the circumstances, my gratitude didn't last for more than five seconds. I glared at Voldemort, hungry for revenge, and I knew I was not alone in this desire.

Naturally, Harry Potter was the first to speak.

"We'll never hurt each other!" he roared, his voice raspy from lack of use. "You can't force us! You need us. You wouldn't have kept all of us alive if you didn't."

"It is true that I need you," Voldemort replied. "But I do not need all of you."

Harry swallowed, and his lower lip trembled against his chin. "Still," he said faintly, "you won't make us kill each other. The only way you'll do it is by the Imperius curse, and even then we'll try to fight it!"

The rest of us nodded fervently, and Neville Longbottom yelled, "Dumbledore's Army!"

Voldemort's face was one of amusement, much like the face of a child who takes pleasure in burning an ant with a magnifying glass. "Silly children," he whispered. "You will do as I command."

His eyes wandered to someone behind us, and he gave a slight nod of his head. Bewildered, I looked toward the Great Hall doors, where another group of prisoners entered in a single-file line. They were led and followed by Death Eaters, and their wrists were bound in the same rope that ours were. I didn't recognize any of them; they were small children, first years by the looks of them. There had to be at least twenty, maybe thirty that were in the line. Their heads were low and their bodies shook with fear. My heart instantly dropped into my stomach at the sight of them.

When they had all entered the Hall, the children were forced to stop in front of us.

"If you do not play," Voldemort leered, "then these young boys and girls will never see the light of day again."

At his words, the children sobbed and shook even harder. A few of them looked at me, but I had to force myself to turn away. I couldn't bear the pleading in their small eyes, couldn't bear to think of such innocent faces meeting tragic ends. The other prisoners shouted protests, even went so far as to kick their legs out at the Death Eaters, but their efforts were futile. The only way they could stop such an act would be to give in. And how bad could dying be? How could it be worse than living as a slave, or living in a constant state of fear and anxiety?

"I'll do it," I said, but my voice was barely audible in the uproar. I cleared my throat and set my eyes on Voldemort, summoning every ounce of courage I had to speak to him directly. "I'll play your game!"

This time I was heard. Some of the prisoners stared at me incredulously, while others gave me appreciative nods. Ginny Weasley cried out, "I'll play too!" Seamus Finnigan said, "Yeah, I'll play!" The rest of my classmates followed suit, but Theodore Nott was not quite as quick to give in. Both he and Blaise Zabini were sharing a similar look with one another, a look that told of a deep intimacy that I had never seen before. I wondered what on earth they were thinking, but eventually the two of them yelled, "We'll play!" at the same time.

Voldemort gave another nod to the Death Eaters in front of the line of children. The Death Eaters turned around, and the children did the same, bustling out of the Great Hall with more speed than they had shown when they entered.

The twelve of us stood rooted to the spot. Our mouths weren't glued shut again, but we were quiet. None of us had anything more to say. I knew what the others were thinking, and to be honest, I was thinking it too: _what did we just agree to_?

"Take the contestants to the arena," said Voldemort, although he appeared to be talking to no one in particular. I realized that he was, in fact, talking to the Carrows, who had remained hovering in the Entrance Hall as they awaited their instructions. The brother and sister Death Eaters raised their wands again, forcing us to walk out of the Great Hall.

I could barely process the thoughts racing through my mind. I knew, even before I agreed to play the game, that I could not kill any of these people. I couldn't kill a person at all, even if that person was a Death Eater, and these were my classmates. These were my friends. I had known them all for years, had studied with them and cheered with them during Quidditch matches. I had eaten breakfast with them and gone to Hogsmeade with them. How would _any_ of us be able to harm each other? If I were to die, who would be the one to kill me? Would I be able to defend myself from an attack in the first place? I didn't have the answers to any of these questions, and I never would.

This was exactly what Voldemort wanted: to turn us against each other, to pit friend against friend. And what would become of the last one standing? They would never be the same again. The remaining prisoners would cast them out for killing their sons and daughters and sisters and brothers. They would be broken forever.

I couldn't fathom a more horrible fate.

* * *

As we made our way past the courtyard and onto the grounds, I saw a long oak table positioned on the shore of the Black Lake. There were objects on the table, but I couldn't make out their shapes. Whatever they were, I didn't like the feeling I got from looking at them. I averted my gaze to the clouds, thick and white against the blue sky. It was a terribly gorgeous day. _If I'm to die_, I thought, _I would want it to be on a day like this_.

Eventually we made it to the table, and I was close enough now to recognize the vast array of weapons set out in front of me. There were two old, rotting axes; a crossbow and quiver filled with arrows; a set of six small daggers, all varying in length and width; and a thin, silver sword with red rubies on the hilt. Further down the table were different items, which I supposed were to be used as defensive weapons: a pair of omnioculars; a foe-glass; a broomstick; a suit of armor; and two unlabeled phials filled with potions, one red and one yellow.

I noticed that Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were sharing a look again, but I still didn't understand how they could communicate in such a way. It made me wonder if they were planning something sinister, or if they had made some sort of pact long ago that they would kill each other if it ever came down to it. I couldn't know for sure. I thought about Parvati, about what would have happened if she had been a part of the Death Games as well. Would we have teamed up and helped each other? What would we have done, anyway? I'd never been physically strong, and neither had Parvati. We may have been smart, but the others were smart too.

_Stop thinking about Parvati_, I thought. I knew that asking myself these questions over and over would not get me anywhere. I had to come up with a plan if I wanted to make it out of this alive.

The Carrows raised their wands and muttered incantations that made the ropes on our hands disappear. I rubbed my sore wrists and looked furtively at the others, wishing I knew what they were thinking. None of them said a word as the Carrows stalked back up the grassy slope toward the castle. There was a tension in the air, a tension so disgustingly thick that it made the breath in my lungs heavy with dread.

"What do we do?" said Terry Boot, breaking the uneasy silence. The rest of us looked over at him, but no one responded. My best guess was that no one knew what to say. I didn't, anyway. Were we supposed to just… go at it? What did Voldemort even _expect _us to do?

Without warning, I felt my feet being lifted from the ground. It was as though a giant hand had grabbed hold of my shirt, intending to place me away from the other prisoners. The invisible hand let me fall to the ground about fifty yards out from the oak table, right on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. As I straightened up, I realized I was placed right in the middle, with five people to my left and six to my right. Theodore Nott, I noticed, was to my immediate left. His jaw was set and he was in a runner's stance, like he was getting ready to sprint as fast as he could to the table.

I didn't know what to make of him. I knew that Theodore Nott was the son of a Death Eater, but was he really so eager to kill his classmates? The boy was practically salivating. I tried to shake my head of the thought, but the longer we waited for something to happen, the more terrified I felt. I looked back at the table, contemplating whether or not I should try to grab something. There weren't as many weapons as there were "contestants". If I didn't get my hands on at least a dagger, there was no way I would be able to defend myself. _Dagger it is_, I thought. It would be easy enough to grab. They were small, but they would do the job.

God, what was I even saying? _They would do the job. _I sounded like a cold-blooded killer already. Well, if it was for self-defense… that wouldn't have made me a cold-blooded killer in any sense of the word.

Unless I liked it. What if I liked it?

_Stop it, Lavender_, I told myself. _Just stop._

I breathed a deep sigh and did as Theodore did: I put my right leg out in front of me, ready to sprint to the table. If I was going to grab a weapon, I needed to do it as quickly as possible. The only problem was that I didn't even know if I was a good runner. I had run plenty of times, but not like this… not with the prospect of imminent death hanging over my head.

Suddenly, a familiar voice washed over me, a voice that made my hair stand on end and my fingernails dig into my palms. I could tell that the others heard it too, as many of them put their hands to their ears in an effort to block out the terrible sound.

"Contestants," the voice said, "you should know that I am watching you. We are all watching you."

I closed my eyes and tried to slow my breathing, but I was shaking so badly that my breath was coming out in heaves.

"Let the Games begin."

And with that, he was gone. We all looked around at each other, unsure of what to do. To my right, Hannah Abbott stood stock-still, her face wet with recent tears. When she saw that I was staring at her, it seemed as though her entire body went stiff. Then, in the blink of an eye, she darted off toward the table, her long blonde hair whipping behind her like a flag in the wind.

I was caught completely off-guard, but Hannah's explosion of movement caused the others to copy her. I whipped around to see Theodore Nott running toward the table as well, and I cursed myself for letting him have a head start. Frustrated, I hurried after him, my eyes set on the daggers that were gleaming in the sunlight. I watched as Theodore picked up one of the axes and swung it directly at Hannah, who dodged the attack and sprinted into the trees. When I finally made it to the table, I grabbed the dagger closest to me and intended to do the same as Hannah did: run into the forest. It was the only place I could think of to hide, and if I stayed on the outskirts, I could get water from the lake when I needed it.

As I turned around to head back, a brutal force knocked me to the ground. I landed on my ribs, and the dagger flew out of my right hand into the pebbles that lined the shore. My eyes fluttered open, but the sun was so bright that I could only make out a large shape standing in front of me; it appeared to be a tall, lean boy, and he was twirling a dirty axe in his hands. Even with the sun in my eyes, I could see the swirls of burnt honey glowing against his shadowed face.

I gasped and attempted to crawl away, but he dug his heavy foot into my ankle and pressed down as hard as he could. Screaming and crying, I thrashed out at him, not wanting to believe that he was going to kill me. How could it have been so easy for him, hurting another human being who had done nothing to wrong him? All I could think of in that moment was how stupid I had been, how stupid we all had been for not banding together in the first place. We could have tried to escape. We could have just told Voldemort we would play the game and then… _and then nothing_, _Lavender_.

No, we couldn't have escaped. If we even tried to escape, he would kill those innocent children. He would probably kill the children first, and then our friends, and then our families, all because we disobeyed him. He would never stop. And in the end, it would never matter how hard we fought. Our deaths would have come sooner or later anyway.

Maybe this was better. Maybe dying at the hands of a friend was better than dying at those of an enemy. There could be peace to it. Closure. Acceptance. Perhaps there could be some sort of unspoken forgiveness between the one killing and the one being killed. I would forgive him for losing his will, and he would forgive me for leaving him behind in this wretched world.

But when Theodore's axe came down on my skull, the last thing on my mind was forgiveness.


End file.
